


Blame It On Me

by nanosorcerer



Series: Endgame Compliant [1]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anti-Pepper Potts, But I used the Archive Warning just in case, Canon-Compliant, Endgame compliant, Even though he doesn't really know Stephen, Funeral, Grief/Mourning, IronStrange, M/M, Only mention of Tony's death, People blame Stephen for Tony's death, Peter blames Stephen for Tony's death, So does Pepper, Stephen mourning Tony, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Thor is comforting, Writing this was like living a nightmare, tony stark's funeral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 09:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20580176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanosorcerer/pseuds/nanosorcerer
Summary: Attending Tony’s funeral, stricken with grief and guilt, Stephen ends up finding comfort from an unlikely source. Unfortunately, not everyone has the same sympathy for him regarding Tony’s death.





	Blame It On Me

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry if any of this seems out of character (especially for Stephen), grief makes you do weird shit sometimes. And, really, there’s weirder shit to do besides crying in the arms of a man you’ve met once at the love of your life’s funeral.  
To make it very clear, I DO NOT blame Stephen for Tony’s death. This is all just a hellish AU in my mind.

Stephen half stumbled out onto the porch, screen door creaking behind him in protest at its rough treatment. He couldn’t stand the crushing grief inside the house anymore. Sure, people had taken to the trays of food laid out on the table, making polite, quiet conversation in between the lulls of silence, but they were filled by tears more often than not. 

He’d heard Rhodey telling stories about his and Tony’s MIT days, their fight together against Vanko at the Stark Expo years ago. He forced a smile and a normal speaking volume, but Stephen could practically feel the grief rolling off him in waves. The Colonel’s eyes glistened dangerously and his eyes dropped whenever he wasn’t speaking. Happy, on the other hand, quietly avoided people, instead devoting his attention to Morgan so Pepper could deal with her guests as gracefully as possible while trying to hold herself together. Stephen had never met either man before this, but he’d seen, rather than heard, how important they were to Tony, and vice versa. 

Earlier, Rhodey had reached out to shake his hand and Stephen had let him, the man saying nothing about the scars he must have felt under his fingers. Too much broken history lay behind the Colonel’s eyes and Stephen couldn’t bear to be in his presence for very long.

Morgan was the worst. Looking at her was like a special kid of torture, dwarfed almost comically as she sat in the protective loop of Happy’s arm. She looked small and confused and worried, brown eyes filled with a familiar look that Stephen had seen millions of times, but only in fake futures. 

Earlier, when they’d all been out on the front lawn, avoiding looking at the lake where Tony’s heart drifted further out onto the sparkling water, Stephen had been shocked when Pepper sidled up to him. She had a glass of wine in hand which she’d clearly been carrying around for a while, but hadn’t touched. It was like she had sought him out, but didn’t acknowledge his presence as they stood side-by-side, looking but not seeing the people grouped about around them. The pleasantries of a funeral seemed so fake after seeing each other on the battlefield, fighting, sobbing. 

“Tony talked about you”, Pepper said suddenly, like the words were heavy on her tongue, like she needed to be rid of them. She further proved this point by taking an uncomfortably large gulp of her wine. Stephen risked a glance at her, saw the makeup just barely covering heavy shadows under her eyes.

“Really?”, he croaked, knowing he shouldn’t have trusted his voice. He hadn’t spoken for days, really, except to tell Wong to leave him be. He didn’t know why he had said that, like this information could somehow change what had happened. But he let himself hang onto a glimmer of the past, desperate for any scrap of Tony he didn’t already have in his memories.

Her smile was sad when she responded, blue eyes hazy with tears.

“Yeah. He talked about you like you were really special.” There was a bitter edge to her voice and Stephen guessed that she’d had more wine than he’d previously thought. “‘Neurostuff meets rabbit from a hat’. That’s how he described you.” She looked at him like she wanted to hate him, but couldn’t fully bring herself to. “He missed you.”

Stephen didn’t let himself release the huge sob which threatened to leave him, instead sending it down to coil further into the huge knot that had been lodged in his chest since the end of the battle. He nodded numbly as he looked down at his feet, his shoes blurring while he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“He cried for you, I think”, Pepper continued, unprompted. Her voice was coarse, like she’d just been crying really hard and Stephen noticed she didn’t even attempt to hold together the composed facade the other guests had received. “He cried for Peter a lot so it was hard to tell the difference sometimes.”

“I’m sorry”, he muttered numbly, telling her the words he wished he could tell Tony. Regret and anger swirled in his chest, wishing he could have said something, anything to Tony, letting him know what he had seen of their relationship before the Snap happened. Every second since he’d come back from the dead had been spent wishing sorely for what could have been, in another universe, another life. He glanced at Pepper to see if she was going to say anything further when a wall of guilt came rushing in. It reminded him that he had no right to such thoughts about Tony when his sweet, regal, composed widow was standing mere inches from him. It was like a game he played with himself whenever he started feeling like he had been cheated of a life with Tony. One look at Pepper and he was reminded of how much she had lost. His pity quickly dissolved, though, when she turned to look at him slowly and held him in her gaze, regarding him like something on the bottom of her shoe. 

“He followed you onto that fucking spaceship.” Her voice was low, low enough that no one else could hear her spitting venom at him. “He followed you because he told that kid to save you.” She jerked an unsympathetic thumb at Peter. “And of course he’d follow that kid to the end of the universe. And if the kid hadn’t died, Tony wouldn’t have had to bring him back, and everything could have been fine the way it was.” Stephen’s mind whirled at her accusations, deciding it wasn’t a good time to explain that Peter would have disappeared in the Snap regardless of where he was. 

“You had no remorse in setting him up for slaughter, did you?”, she asked wretchedly. He knew it wasn’t exactly his place, but Stephen couldn’t help but defend himself a little as his chest ached painfully.

“You think I’d be here if that was true?”, he asked weakly, tears making their way past his defences. 

“I sure as hell didn’t invite you”, she growled, turning towards the house.

After their exchange, Stephen was understandably hesitant to join Tony’s friends and family in what had been his home. His senses blurred by grief, he looked numbly about the warm, homey cabin, picturing Tony sitting on that sofa, attempting to help cook in the kitchen, living his life here, creating memories that were as good as lost now. Stephen noticed absently that tears were streaming freely down his face, which he swiped at, disgusted and hopelessly lost as he regarded the trays of food. He hadn’t consumed much besides tea in the past three days, something his stomach reminded him of rather persistently as the scent of various sandwich meats hit his senses. He tried not to vomit. He couldn’t eat now, couldn’t imagine eating anytime soon. 

Standing in the middle of the room, flanked on all sides by people who had known Tony better, spent so much more time with him, Stephen felt obsolete, out of place, an imposter at the very least. He then made a brief second of eye contact with Morgan, in which she titled her head confusedly in a much too Tony-like way. It was the last straw which sent him staggering out onto the front porch, hopefully away from any judging, accusing eyes.

The breeze was warm, passing through the pine trees before playing in the wind chimes on the porch, tossing the sorcerer’s hair about. He squeezed his eyes shut in denial as he almost allowed himself to imagine feeling Tony in the wind, his touch, his soft laugh, a smile brighter than all the stars in the universe. Stephen grabbed the porch rail with weak hands as he drew in a shaky breath, almost laughing at how sick he felt, nausea rising in his stomach, threatening to dispose of what he hadn’t eaten.

Levi, disguised as the pocket square in his suit, shifted slightly, trying to gain Stephen’s attention without giving themselve’s away much.

“What?”, Stephen asked numbly, looking to his right where the disguised cloak was gesturing. From his spot leaning over the railing, he numbly took in the sight of a certain Norse god standing at the far end of the porch, looking out over the lake. Thor stood, hands clasped in front of himself, a far off look on his face as he remained unmoving, seemingly having not noticed Stephen yet. The sorcerer straightened, blankly working out what to say, wondering if it was worth saying anything at all. He decided against it, letting his feet carry him to stand several feet from the taller man, following his gaze out onto the lake. There was a small, dark speck visible on the water if Stephen let his eyes focus, so he didn’t. He shoved his hands in his pockets habitually, wondering presently if the god would rather stand alone, though he made no move to suggest this.

“Wizard”, Thor greeted finally and it almost split Stephen’s chest in two. He hid it well, nodding with a quiet grimace. The god’s voice was deeper than Stephen remembered. It sounded broken. And rightly so, considering how much he had lost, what he had gone through recently. They had changed so much, from their first sarcastic exchanges in the New York Sanctum, quips about tea and unnecessary teleportation which seemed a far-off, hazy memory by now. They were a little more broken now, just barely husks of their former selves and Stephen tried not to think about it too much. 

“I’m sorry about Loki”, Stephen managed, the only shred of commonality between them that wasn’t going to tear his heart apart. Fresh tears formed as the god nodded, solemn. It was five years ago, but, like everything else, it hurt even more acutely now, raw and seeping like a wound that wouldn’t close. 

“Thank you”, Thor croaked. Their words were empty and lacking, but the sentiment was there, neither of them able to shake their grief long enough to say anything with either of their usual eloquence or wit. 

“I thought it might be like last time”, Thor admitted, pain making his voice ragged and weak. “And all the other times. Had myself convinced that he was coming back, that he might waltz in with that irritating smile and chide me that I should have known he’d be back.” Tears ran into his beard and neither of them cared. Watching the sun reflect off the surface of the lake was easier than looking at each other, so they continued staring ahead. Thor smiled rather bitterly. “Five years and I think I’m finally accepting that this is it.” There was a beat of silence before Stephen drew in a deep breath and spoke.

“I have to admit, even after going through millions of possibilities, I hoped that there…might be one where he could pull something off.” He couldn’t say his name, but of course Thor knew who he was talking about. “Maybe a new timeline could have come about, maybe something could have changed during the fight”, he said, mocking himself with his own hopeful thoughts. “Ridiculous”, he gulped, brow furrowing to try and keep the tears in their place.

“Not so ridiculous”, Thor offered softly, not understanding Stephen’s connection to Tony fully, but willing to. “Our minds will come up with incredible things while hoping for the safety of those we care about.” Stephen didn't respond, just focused on the last two words of the god’s sentence until his heart was searing with the pain. He felt his breath catch when he finally released the thought. The grief in the air between them was thick, heavy, crushing, more raw even than inside the cabin where all of Tony’s loved ones mourned him.

“I wish I had at least gotten to say goodbye properly”, Stephen muttered dejectedly, like he was confessing his sins to a large, bearded priest. “I wish none of it had to happen like this.” Tears welled up on their own accord. “Not like this.” 

Thor heard the raw quiver in his voice, saw the tears streaming down the sorcerer’s cheeks. A man well accustomed to grief, he offered a comforting hand on Stephen’s shoulder. The sorcerer’s composed facade had been tearing at the seams all day, but that moment of emotional vulnerability provided and undone by the man beside him, caused him to break against his own will. Stephen wilted, crumbling with the hole that had fully torn open again in his chest, collapsing towards the deck as Thor caught his elbow, hoisting him up. He turned him in towards him, Stephen let out an empty gasp of a sob, tearing and haunted as he covered his mouth with one hand to suppress the guttural animal noise that bubbled in his crushed chest. Limp against the god’s front, his legs were practically useless as Thor held him up with his sturdy arms wrapped around him, holding him in a sort of tentative, messy bear hug. He rubbed the sorcerer’s shoulder soothingly, feeling helpless, his own chest burning with grief for the loss of his friends, his brother, his mother, his people. Singular tears took their turn making tracks down his cheeks to be lost in his beard.

Stephen had only met Thor once before, but gut-wrenching grief didn’t know what embarrassment was as it tore deep, ugly sobs out of his chest. He hadn’t really done this yet; truly tried to cry the pain out of his body, this aching poison that seeped through his veins and kept him from sleep, food, and any other emotion he might wish to feel. And Wong wasn’t exactly one for hugs, though he’d tried every other non-physical way to make heads or tails of Stephen’s debilitating vigil. 

Stephen remembered the last human being he had touched; Tony, right after the sorcerer had seen the possibilities, 14,000,605 possibilities which taunted him with a life he’d never have, the death which would be his in less than an hour, and the fate he was resigning Tony to. This thought ripped another gasp from him, the sound muffled by the way he was pressed into the god’s shoulder, his cries drowned in the suited muscle his face was pushed against.

Neither knew how long they stood for in that position, but it could have been an eternity before Stephen’s sobs began to dissolve, his throat raw and eyes burning. He was physically spent as he tries to stand by his own power, noticing that Thor didn’t release his grip from his shoulders until he gained his footing. He pulled back, eyes red, and mustered up the grace to give Thor a guilty look.

“Sorry”, he said, voice wet and terrifyingly empty. “I-I should be the one…you lost your brother. I barely even knew T-.” He couldn’t even finish saying his name, giving a small, bitter laugh instead. “I’m pathetic…” Thor shook his head. As much as it still pained him, his grief for his brother was not so fresh, though what he would have given to have a friendly shoulder to cry into five years ago.

“I think you knew Tony better than any of us realized. Including him.” Stephen would have cried again if there had been anything left in him, slumping against the railing instead, willing his legs to hold him up.

The screen door was suddenly thrown open again and Stephen made himself look up, immediately wishing he hadn’t. Peter, looking simultaneously too old and too young in his funeral suit, was staring the sorcerer down, the blank look in his eyes like looking in a mirror. They hadn’t really seen each other since the start of the Battle for Earth, nearly three weeks ago, but laying eyes on the sorcerer again seemed to jog something in the teen’s grief-addled brain.

“All those futures you saw”, he squeaked out, sounding so damaged and small that Stephen was surprised to feel hot tears squeezing from his own eyes, knowing what was coming. Peter took a surprisingly solid step towards him.

“‘Fourteen million six hundred and five’. That’s what you said”, Peter said slowly, accusingly, voice shaking with tears. Brown eyes met green and Stephen wanted to disappear. “You knew. You knew what was going to happen and you made sure it happened.”

“I couldn’t have guaranteed - it was up to him-.” Stephen cut himself off. “It was the only way, I swear”, he half whispered, half sobbed. Peter kept walking towards him, eyes red and tears streaming down his face.

“You didn’t even tell him. You couldn’t have at least told him?”

“It wouldn't have happened if I did”, Stephen choked desperately, trying to hang on to a scrap of composure, but it was lost in the wind.

“He would have still made sure it happened, because that’s who he was!” His own use of past tense was Peter’s breaking point, slamming against the sorcerer who was barely standing on his own. Stephen knew the teen could have really hurt him if he wanted to, instead his fists were limp and useless, pounding against the sorcerer’s chest weakly.

“Y-you did that to him - you took him from me. You could have - there should have been some other way…”, Peter sobbed as he beat desperately against Stephen’s chest, angry, but tired, needing to place the blame somewhere; it was too painful to just chock it up to the unfairness of the universe. Stephen did nothing to stop him, hearing his own thoughts from the past three weeks echoed back at him in the words of a broken teen. He raised his hand plaintively.

“Peter, I know…” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” Stephen’s heart clenched when the boy paused in his pained, tired fury, meeting him with haunted eyes.

“Why?”, he whispered. “Why did it have to be him?” Stephen shook his head, wishing he had an answer.

“I wish it was me instead…everyday”, he admitted in hushed tones, just as May came to pry Peter off of him, the boy breaking and sobbing in her arms as she held and shushed him, stroked his hair though there was no comfort to be offered. She looked at Stephen, not in accusation, but in bewilderment, hurt for her boy and wondering what this man had to do with it. Stephen resorted to staring at his feet, not having the energy or the will to defend himself. Most everyone blamed him and so did he; there was no way around the role he had played in Tony’s sacrifice. 

He stumbled as he turned on his heel, managed to make it down the stairs, across the lawn and to the end of the dock. Stephen collapsed, legs messily strewn under him. He simply didn’t have the energy to stand anymore. He’d felt pain before, and grief, but this was…all-consuming, every single part of him physically hurt with thoughts of the man he couldn’t save, the man he had wanted to save above all. 

He vividly remembered the last thing Tony had said to him. _“Well, welcome back anyway, asshole.”_ He had wanted him to know then: how much he loved him, how sorry he was for the stupidity of fate, how badly he wished he could take his place. He groaned at the thought. Death was nothing compared to this hell he was living in now. 

A soft hand on his shoulder surprised him, but he didn’t have the energy to jump. He looked up to find the hand belonged to Wong and his brow furrowed in bewilderment despite everything. The other man offered his hand and Stephen took it after a moment’s hesitation, revelling at the first time he’d come in physical contact with his friend and colleague of seven years. Wong hoisted him to his feet, steadying him with a hand on his arm before letting go.

“Stephen, I’m sorry, but we have to go. The Sanctum needs us back.” Stephen nodded, though everything in him screamed in protest.

“Not like I’m much use there right now, anyway.” He failed to recognize his own voice. Wong regarded him calmly, as he had for the past three weeks as Stephen deteriorated about the Sanctum. 

“They just need someone to blame, someone to place the reason for their pain on to”, he said, looking to the house, before meeting Stephen’s eyes. “It’s not your fault.” Stephen took the words in and turned them over, but couldn’t believe them, so he rejected them and hung his head.

“Maybe, but it still feels like it is.” Wong regarded him grimly, nodding in acceptance before opening a gateway to the New York Sanctum. Stephen allowed himself one last glance at Tony’s home, a sight he’d never see again, he was sure, something else in him breaking as he saw a pair of big, brown eyes watching him through one of the windows. Morgan had a hand up against the glass and lifted it in a small wave which Stephen forced himself to return before stepping into the Sanctum and away from the closest he’d ever get to Tony again.


End file.
